


Treasure You Whole

by wittywords



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Belly Kink, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-05-27 10:56:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15023075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wittywords/pseuds/wittywords
Summary: Cullen feels insecure about his newly developing curves. Iron Bull gives them the appreciation they deserve.





	1. Chapter 1

The foot was very cleverly placed, smart enough to send the seven year old tumbling into the deepest end of the sloshing muck. The surface reflecting the frowning grey sky broke and splashed into every direction mixed with pig crap. The deep puddle served as a drinking ground for the farm animals that got out of the pen during the storm before they were herded back to the shelter.

Immediately, there is a burst of laughter at his mishap. Cullen shouldn't have been surprised to be fooled again by the false promises of friendship, but he is every time. He would promise himself to avoid the gang, always faltering when they'd come with pretend apologies and underlying greed for inflicting more humiliation that amused them so. He kept giving them more chances. A part of him clung at straws, discarding the brand of the social outcast.

Fighting the burn of the forming tears under his eyelashes and not quite understanding what for, he scrambles to his feet and with the clutched fists advances onto Tom. His outburst met with a twisted smile of a senior standing firm at least a head higher.

"What was that for? Why did you trip me?" Cullen demands. The voice is high pitched and contains more tears than he wants to.

"Me?" Tom smirks. "I didn't do anything! Did I? Maybe you're just so fat that you can't see your feet."

Sam snickers from the sideline, trying to catch Tom's eye in pining approval. He rarely does the shoving, unless instructed by two others, but he gains no less delight from Cullen's suffering.

His breath is stuck like a bitter lump in his throat at the screeching lie and he lunges at the offender intending to get him at least dirty even if that means being beat up. His mother wasn't going to scold him, but her mouth would pinch in disapproval and Cullen would feel guilty for adding to her workload again by dirtying his clothes. A strong hand from behind catches him by the scruff of the neck and spins right back into mud face first. When he rises onto a bruised elbow sputtering, his hair is grabbed. Gruesome stench assaults him as he gets dunked back in. Only when his chest begins to burn, does the weight shift off his back and he is allowed to gasp for air convulsively, swallowing puddle drops in the hurry to get his breath back.

"Well done Rees," Tom's face is nearby blue where he's doubled over with laughter. Nonetheless he doesn't accept a muddied high five from a red headed farm hand who in spite of being short of ten already has broader shoulders than her companions. She smirks spitefully revealing two missing teeth. 

"To think he wants to join the Templars! Like that's going to happen even if he crawls around and begs."

"They might chance it for the fun of it and kick him right out onto his big ass! He won't be able to squeeze into armour!" 

The hurtful words wedged themselves into his skull and stuck there, resonating with mocking laughter. Cullen gasped and shot up in bed, gradually letting the senses isolate the nightmarish memory from reality.

There were far too many severe events in his life to remember some petty childhood hurts. Recently, however, the dreams of being tormented began to hound him, more specifically when he noticed the changes to his body. The tangled up, half thrown off blanket revealed a bulging midsection and well padded ribs hiding under the gradually thickening layer of fat. Not that he ever had an extensive wardrobe, but lately his odds with the attire made it easier to sleep naked. 

Shivering at the contact of bare feet with the cold floor, he walked to the basin to splash water into his face and hopefully wash away the remnants of the bad dream. As a child he had been mercilessly teased about his chubbiness. That was long ago, before the intensive Templar training smoothed away any curves, and shaped flat stomach and muscle. Unfortunately, the training did little for him now. 

The underwear cut into his hips and slid into the crack as he shrugged it on, after he washed up and styled the unruly bed hair respectfully. Aside from the various side effects of the lyrium withdrawal, that inflicted both physical and mental torment, the symptoms wrecked havoc with his body. No matter how many hours he spent training and keeping the diet of tasteless, bleak greenery, his midsection continued to bloat. Forcing the pants on, he suppressed a dejected sigh at how reluctantly they made it over his hips, threatening to split at the seams. This was his roomiest pair accidentally bought oversized and forgotten. Now not wide enough. It squeezed his bottom tight leaving the top of the crack exposed. At least long tunics and overcoats were capable of dealing with that shame. 

Next came the trickiest part of his attire, the one he desperately hoped would never be revealed to anyone else. During the confiscation of the illegally smuggled emeralds from one of the Orlesians, he came upon a corset among other clothes stashed in a trunk where the jewellery was hidden. Burning up with shame he returned to the discarded trunk during the night watch and claimed the foreign clothing article. As repulsed as he was, the item did a fair job concealing his expanded midsection. He tried sucking in the stomach and laughed mirthlessly and the hopeless endeavour. The corset wrapped around him tight, barely sufficient to contain the bulk. He pulled hard, willing the body into shape that would fit his armour. The lace cut into his finger, drawing blood and slipped away. He already had to replace the laces twice as they had snapped. Grimly determined to persevere, he washed off the blood and tried again.

Several times he had considered throwing the damn thing away, each time stopped by irrational panic. The Inquisition couldn't have an unfit Commander. The gossip and mockery were guaranteed. The opposition wouldn't hesitate to sink it's jaws into the Inquisition's reputation. As kind as Trevelyan was, he then would have no choice but to... 'throw you out of the organisation onto your huge ass' supplied a malicious voice. 'Never mind Inquisition. With the tarnished reputation like that no one would want your service.' Over the course of the several months, the Inquisition became both his cause and his home. Where would he go? He wouldn't even be able to return to a farm. His siblings deserved better than being burdened with his shame. 

Cullen pulled tighter and tighter until darkness began creeping along the edges of his vision and then secured the knot. He leaned against the wall, adjusting his breathing to be short and shallow. Satisfied that the room was no longer spinning, he shrugged on a shirt. His chest strained against the material. Two days ago he had stared at Cassandra's breasts until it became suspicious, stalked by a disquieting realisation that he could match her. It was too late to bind it. The fumbling about with the corset wasted too much time and he ran the risk of being late for a meeting with the Iron Bull.

Just thinking the name quickened his heartbeat and wavered his hand as he secured the heavy breastplate. The Qunari had a powerful presence. On the battlefield, the strength he radiated caused fear and panic in their opponents' ranks. To those he knew, this strength brought security. As much as he wanted, Cullen couldn't have claimed special closeness even though Bull treated him with good humour, always making sure to invite him for drinks or to keep company. A large hand would settle onto his shoulder or he could slightly stagger under a hefty slap on the back that welcomed him. 

Occasionally, Cullen fought mixed feelings since the Qunari used his sexual prowess abundantly and rumours would fly. The Commander would watch the steel muscles ripple across the crisscrossed chest, gradually making way down to the broad pants waistband and then would avert his gaze in alarm, blushing violently at his imagination. What would it be like to be impaled on that large cock. He even had a ridiculous thought to ask one of the mages to alter his hair to red knowing Bull's appreciation for ginger. But Varric was never going to let him live that one down. 

Right, if he wanted to maintain at least a good professional dealings with the Qunari, he had to be courteous enough by showing up on time. The broad overcoat and sword added the final touches to his attire.

Cullen swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and then ventured out of his shelter towards the biting wind and great many people he kept an embarrassing secret from.


	2. Chapter 2

The first tentative steps out of his office, immediately besieged Commander with an obstacle in the form of two Orlesian nobles taking a scenery stroll along the battlements. Their immodest eyes through the masks keenly settled on his figure, tracking his every movement. Not trusting their wandering hands, Cullen sharply turned to the stairway, choosing a longer route. As much as he tried guarding his rear, he didn't have complete confidence in avoiding the privacy invasion. Worse yet, what if they realised that he was much bulkier under the concealing clothes. Through the thin shirt, his nipples scraped against metal, reminding that he had little room under the armour. Snow crunched under his boots and his breath came in short puffs, quickened pace straining his breath. He'd have to see if he could discretely loosen the armour straps to avoid lacing the corset so tight. 

Exchanging a tentative smile with scout Harding, he was glad to reach the place where most of the Chargers took residence. The freshly baked bread, steaming fish soup, chicken cutlets. The delicious aromas assaulted his empty stomach that had been satisfied with a couple of miserable salary sticks of questionable freshness two days ago. A speck of drool formed in the corner of his mouth, which he hurriedly brushed off, dizzied by the tavern's warm, even mildly stuffy, atmosphere. 

Iron Bull's chair stood empty, plunging Cullen's heart into his stomach. Did he make the warrior wait too long until Bull had decided that he was not worth it? Time aside where he enjoyed the liberty of the tavern's bar, he often did go missing on the important errands. 

"You must be looking for the Chief," Krem called out, respectfully getting out of his chair. "He said you'll be coming and didn't want to miss you. He's..."

"Hey Commander!" the call, not particularly loud but forceful, overlapped the general noise, drawing Cullen's attention towards a towering figure descending the stairs. The silhouette formed the perfect template for a heroic statue cast from iron and bronze. 

"Right there..." Krem finished, pointing with his mug at the now obvious location and then took a long draft from it. 

Bull spread his arms wide like he wanted to embrace the visitor in welcome as he advanced, stopping short at the last stair. "Would you care to unwind first? Have a drink. Get that fur coat off?" 

The suggestion wasn't unreasonable. There were a few droplets of sweat forming on his temples due to heat. "I'm fine!" the Commander declined far sharper than he intended prompted by a pang of panic. A sweat droplet slid down his spine and dropped in between the not fully covered butt cheeks. The tavern didn't need a full view of his half clothed rear. "Thank you," he added mildly, catching the warrior's gaze and sharing his warm one. "I appreciate your invitation regardless." 

"All right," Bull conceded. "Down to business first. Always liked that get the job done streak about you." 

He brushed past Cullen and pulled the door open, gesturing for the Commander to go through first. 

"Got something in my quarters that might interest you."

As their parallel footprints left a trail across the courtyard, Cullen recalled that Bull's room was no longer at the tavern after the neighbours fervently began to complain about the frequent noise and shifting furniture. The Qunari picked his new place not far from the tavern in the still unfixed part of the castle, isolate from anyone who'd be disturbed by his antics. Matching his companions stride and watching the trained body move with confidence, Cullen felt heat pool in his thighs imagining the scenarios that caused those complaints.

"Ben-Hassrath had some interesting documents. Got our hands on them before we were asked to leave..." Bull's voice was coated in bitterness and irony, "politely." 

The Commander was not present at the Storm Coast when their potential alliance with the Qunari went to shambles, but there was plenty of gossip about the event that upturned Iron Bull's beliefs. This disaster was promptly followed by Ben-Hassrath's declaration that Inquisition should no longer count on their support. 

As important as the political upturning had been, the evening following the Inquisitor's return from this mission stood out in the Commander's memory as far more significant. Krem showed up frowning. Declaring that Iron Bull holed up in his room, he began pushing and shoving until Cullen was standing in front of the locked door and Krem giving it a sound knock before running away. 

Since he got set up so, the Commander awkwardly cleared his throat to announce his identity and that he'd leave if he was intruding. The door creaked open and he got pulled into the longest conversation that involved more alcohol than Cullen must have consumed in a year. The themes they touched on weren't light and contained a lot of stark insights from the Qunari. Iron Bull had an unconventional and discriminating mind that hurled comments like pin pricks, sharp and penetrating. 

Strangely enough their conversation ended when the warrior slammed his enormous mug onto the table and declared that Cullen had the best ass in the Inquisition before his head dropped onto the table supervised by the loudest snore.

Interrupting his wandering thoughts, Bull's heavy hand settled over his back to help lean out of the way of a cracked bulkhead for which Cullen's forehead had surely been aiming. The motion swayed him closer to Bull's side and their hips brushed. It was wishful thinking prompted by a distant, drunk comment, but the Qunari withdrew his hand much later than was required after the mishap was avoided, only once they stood in front of his quarters.

The key Bull pulled out of his pocket turned twice releasing the lock. The two of them were nearly staggered by a nimble elf who bolted out. Sliding under Bull's arm, the intruder accelerated down the hall faster than a large predator. Issuing curses about the stolen documents, Bull charged after the offender. 

Commander threw a searching look over the room to ensure this wasn't a decoy that would allow the real culprit to get away. Finding it empty, he sprinted after the pair, quickly realising that he was losing ground rather than catching up. Heaving strained breaths, the warrior cursed the corset. His mind swiftly mapped the corridors and most probable exits. Abandoning direct pursuit, Commander gambled on bashing his shoulder into a side door, upsetting the dust and spider webs over his hair and shoulders. Greater weight allowed him to push aside broken crates piled on the other side. Else, he would have been a fraction too late to cross the yard and leap over the knee tall railing, catching the thief with his right arm and bringing them both down. 

A dagger flashed past his throat glimmering like the serpent scales with poison. While his opponent lacked physical strength, his fighting was compensated by great agility. Refusing to get pinned down, he was slippery like a stinging eel. A sizable Qunari fist crashing into his temple quieted the thief.

An arm wrapped around his compressed midsection, Commander struggled to his feet. The vine covered walls and the frozen ground were spinning. Bull told him something. Separate words made no sense. He only identified a note of concern. Why was there so little air? Cullen wanted to answer, but a steel band squeezed his chest tight. 

Iron Bull's large arms stretched out towards him and then Cullen's head rolled back limply.


	3. Chapter 3

Consciousness crept around the foundation where his mind had retreated from pain like a duty bound visitor over a viscous stretch of time. It nagged that the other side wasn’t so bad. In fact, Cullen hadn’t felt so comfortable in a long time. The pressure confining his body was gone. A large hand was covering his skin rubbed gradual circles across his abdomen. 

“That’s a good man. Do continue to breathe. That deathly pale look suits no one.”

Through the golden eyelashes grid sluggishly flickering open the world began to take shape from the wrathfully scowling dragon jaw adapted as an armchair to a huge bed dwarfing his form. This was Iron Bull’s room. 

A pang of alarm jolted Cullen’s mind wide awake accompanied by paralyzing mortification. That was Iron Bull leaning over him and a deep frown was creasing his forehead. He tended to look like that whenever one of the Chargers would do something tremendously stupid, enough to be threatened with spanking. 

“It’s about time you got your bountiful ass out of the void. A little longer and I would have ran straight for the healers.”

Next on the bed Cullen spotted his ill fortuned corset cracked like an eggshell. Bull’s knife must have cut through all the laces in one rushed stroke, freeing the blond from its confines. 

“Normally, I’d compliment you on the efficient job, except this time you were set on suffocating yourself. Speaking of which, what the shit were you doing? You almost died.”

Sweat broke out on his forehead and his mouth went slack as the mind desperately searched for a shred of an explanation, finding no excuse. In full view, Cullen was stretched on his back like a craved offering, bare except for the pants that tore at the seams. Their tightness only accentuated his girth and meaty thighs. Above them into the open spilled a sizeable stomach, contested only by the abnormally large pecks bobbing with every irregular breath he took. The person his foolish heart was calling for was the first witness of his humiliation. 

The stress hit the commander like an avalanche. All those days of distancing himself from the others, the gradually suffocating helplessness that his body was out of his control no matter what he tried. They crashed into him and unbidden tears sprung out of his eyes. The blond tried hiding his face, flicking away the droplets that spilled down his cheeks, but they refused to cease. He was waiting for his companion to get sick of such a poor display and throw him out naked for everyone to see how unfit he was for duty. 

Bull’s arm went around his shoulders and lifted him easily like he was weightless. Rather than getting shown out the door, he was pulled into Qunari’s lap and pillowed against the broad chest where he got rocked like distressed child. The blond was securely encased in the powerful arms. Like it was an anchor to sanity, he clutched convulsively a leather strap that ran across Bull’s chest. 

Leaving salty trails on his cheeks, the tears gradually subsided. The tip of his nose was red and the eyes were puffy from crying. 

“I’m sorry,” his voice was hoarse and the throat kept clogging with more unshed tears. While his dignity was no longer salvageable, Bull wasn’t so cruel as to publicly embarrass someone. “If you could give me a day, I will craft the resignation letter. The Inquisitor deserves to know that I’m no longer fit to serve the Inquisition.” An unworthy part of him wanted to ask Bull to keep this a secret, trusting the warrior to keep his word, but he had gone long enough fooling everyone. As much as he cared for his job and wanted to make it right before his problems surfaced, he didn’t deserve it. 

“You southerners are weird. Just when I got you figured out, it ricochets,” Bull grunted, puzzling over the scant information. “Let me get this right. You think you should quit your job because you have finally put some juicy meat over your bones and grew magnificent tits half of Halamshiral would murder for?”

Maker! Why did he have such a sensitive skin? His cheeks immediately blossomed. Bright pink quickly flushed down his neck and spread over the praised tits. Bull shifted uneasily. 

“What does it tell you when a commander gets too big to fit his armour?” Cullen snapped bluntly, cringing at the necessity to point out his bulging flaws.

"That he needs new, sturdier armour and that he has a magnificent ass." 

"I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but I must face the truth. I've been hiding from it far too long." 

"Wait... you think all those times I've been hitting on you are to spare your feelings?" 

Cullen met the incredulous look with his mulish one. Surely, all those times Iron Bull was just being a good sport, which didn’t mean the Qunari was truly attracted. He was rather blunt in those wants, wasn’t he? 

"Do I have to fuck you through this stout bed to prove I am serious?" 

"Do," the commander challenged what he expected to be the bluff. 

Before he could issue a startled yelp, he was tossed deeper into the enormous bed. Hefty weight pinned him down and his mouth was crushed in a demanding kiss. It burned molten, accompanied by heavy breath and a sting of the strong brew intoxicating him. Cullen kissed back, familiarising the contours of his partner's body. Shockingly, they complimented his. Most likely he was still on the courtyard floor where his head hit the tiles, but this fantasy felt so good. 

A hungry mouth traversed his body, teeth scraping the pudgy tidbits of his colouring flesh. Bull fisted his ill fated pants and ripped them off in one motion along with the smallclothes before giving his ass a sound slap that sent ripples across the ample orb. It was so possessive and sharp and... Cullen groaned at the impact. His hips thrust against the steel mountain of muscle. 

"You liked that," the husk and want in Bull's voice made him quiver with need. This wasn't an act. His lover's throbbing cock grinding against his thigh made him feel wanted. It cracked open a lock on a box hidden deep in the recess on his mind where a hurting part of him dwelled, the one that whispered with the childish spiteful voices that no one would want him. 

Beating those malicious whispers away, Bull issued another resounding smack across his bottom. Another surge of desire coursed through his frame.

"Get onto your knees, Kadan." 

The hushed order contained promise, carving a niche from one of his dreams. The musky aroma whiffed around as Bull coated his hands in the lubricant. Sturdy hands descended onto his ass taking their fill of the accentuated curves and rubbing the ointment into the buttocks. The thumbs teased his opening, gradually stretching it to accommodate Bull's impressive length. 

Fisting the sheets, Cullen was ready when the tip of that incredible cock parted his buttocks teasing the entrance and then inched in. The stab of pain immediately replaced by a burst of pleasure as the cock filled him completely, solidly striking the sweet spot. It tore a scream from him that evolved into sounds muffled by his arm as his partner sharply pulled far out and timed his thrust with another loud slap against his bottom. 

Incoherently, he clawed at the sheets, pushing back for more contact as the spanking continued matched by each thrust. Leaking and ready to burst at each stroke, his cock flagged. Cum shot all over the rotund weight of his sagging stomach as his lover flooded him with the searing hot seed. Light exploded behind his eyes. Their bodies rode out the aftershocks of the lasting orgasm. A string of what must have been juicy profanities in Qunlat accompanied their collapsing bodies. They sprawled over one another, sharing the abundance of the salty sweat drops. 

Iron Bull stirred lazily and rolled them over, inviting majority of Cullen's weight to rest atop of him. Possessively, he draped an arm around the still reddened ass, letting them stew in the drifting silence. Even with the extra padding, Cullen felt dwarfed by his brawny partner. Bull pressed a kiss onto his thickened neck. 

"I like it when the man is portly," he said seriously. "It's damn sexy. Can't grab a solid handful with those scrawny types. That skin and bones look you had at Haven was all wrong on you. You've got big bones and a broad build wasted without some weight to do more muscling."

Unwilling to argue, Cullen nodded sleepily and nuzzled into his partner's side. Everything happened too fast and his mind still reeled in need of more time to comprehend that instead of it being his most humiliating defeat he was suddenly granted one of the dearest wishes. He wasn't confident the others would accept his changes as easily as Iron Bull did. He needed more time to adapt to his body. The years of shame weren't going away at the flick of the wrist. Yet, curled up on a bed fully naked and unashamed, Bull’s praise reassuring him, it seemed like the step in the right direction. His eyes were sliding shut, the creeping nightmares warded by his lover holding him tight. His cheek slid deeper into the pillow and his breathing evened out peacefully.


End file.
